


Champion

by haikyoot (oscillos)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscillos/pseuds/haikyoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima visits Kuroo after a frustrating day of play-matches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champion

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first "real" fanfiction in many a year, and shameless PWP. Thanks for reading!

"No hard feelings!"

Tsukishima put his hands on his knees, panting— brow furrowed as Kuroo's words ring out across the court.

The match point had gone to Nekoma— again.

He straightens up without looking to where the other team is inevitably gathered, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. The pat on his shoulder from a teammate is ignored, too. _Next time_ echoes through the back of his consciousness, put aside as quickly as the final plays of the game filter through his thoughts.

It had been a tough game. Tougher-so, as it was the last of the day, pushing them all to their brink with exhaustion, and for Karasuno especially— for _Tsukishima_ — to their limits of frustration. Next time, they said. They were getting better, they'd close the gap in no time at all. It wasn't a lie, he knew, but he didn't acknowledge it outright, either.

"We're leaving, Tsukki!" Yamaguchi calls beyond his thoughts, a little louder than normal, as if he could tell Tsukishima's train of thought, "Want to come to dinner?"

Tsukishima glances over his shoulder as they filter out of the court for the day, a frown crossing his lips as his sight lands directly on Kuroo without meaning to. The captain's mouth is moving as he speaks to his team, but suddenly shifts over to where Tsukishima is standing, a bare smile tugging at his lips as their eyes meet. Awful. Why'd he even bother?

"No," He hears himself say dryly, turning away at once, the frown deeper. "Homework."

Yamaguchi smiles a little out of the corner of his eye, almost knowingly. He doesn't push it, for which Tsukishima is secretly grateful. "Alright. See you, Tsukki."

"Bye."

He's a little bitter.

' _hey'_

Tsukishima glares at the text he'd just received from Kuroo, almost the moment he'd left the building. He'd renamed the contact from _kuroo sensei_ to  _Annoying_ , the previous title being what the other had named it when he'd forced his number onto Tsukishima's phone at the start of the trip.

' _u ok?'_

_'don't rub it in, jackass'_

Actually, he's a lot bitter.

' _aw dont be like that its just one game_

_theres always tomorrow'_

He doesn't bother replying to those, already on his way back to the hotel they were staying at, having broken off from the rest of the team at the last crosswalk. Truthfully, Tsukishima just wanted to shower away the frustration he'd let build up over the day's matches—over his interactions with Nekoma's captain, and go to sleep early. In the morning, everything would be fine again. Upon entering his room, however, his phone buzzes again. This time, he looks.

_'want to put me in my place?'_

 

* * *

 

"Where's your roommate?"

Kuroo's shared hotel room was quiet. Quiet enough that Tsukishima can't dance around the fact that he'd actually come here. It's a simple enough setup— two queen beds, one slightly ruffled, the next in total disarray. Distantly, he thinks the latter must be Kuroo's, especially as the other now sits on it, kicking off his shoes.

"Your teammate dragged him off," Kuroo flashes a grin Tsukishima easily resents as he looks on with a near-perpetual frown, the other's gym bag tossed onto the floor. "Something about that game he's playing."

"I see." He says it like it's nothing, but he's glad. Tsukishima feels— not _ashamed_ , but conflicted enough of his behavior as it is— he didn't want Kuroo's aloof, quiet friend silently coming to conclusions that were likely to be wrong.

"What, did you want him here, too?"

"No." Tsukishima snaps immediately, frown tugging downward at the idea. 

"You're not still mad about the last game, right?" Kuroo leans back on his hands, a lazy smile perched on his lips, brow raised. He can feel the frown he's wearing deepen at the feeling that sparks in him at the display.

He can't answer at first, lips firmly pressed together. Why was he here?

"Well?"

"Shut up."

Tsukishima took a sudden step toward the bed, reaching out to grab a fistful of Kuroo's jersey. Without a beat, he yanked the other toward him, awkwardly slamming his mouth over Kuroo's, some sort of comment soon muffled in the biting kiss. Predictably— frustratingly— the other reciprocated at once, lips swiping over Tsukishima's warmly. Tsukishima can almost _feel_  the smile present as he presses in, Kuroo's hands coming up to wrap around his waist, biting his lip lightly.

The kiss breaks with a wet _mm_ , Kuroo's hold keeping Tsukishima close after they part.

"You're so annoying." Tsukishima says quietly, already feeling something sink in his stomach like a hot stone, fueled by the smug but  _affectionate_  look on Kuroo's face, so close. He doesn't want to see it, wants to get rid of it.

"I know." Kuroo grins, leaning in to kiss him again.

Tsukishima wanted to be able to say he could handle Kuroo better, like this— because he couldn't talk, couldn't rile him up. He'd be blatantly lying, though. The qualities that were most maddening about him were present in his every touch: thoughtful, yet rough; purposeful, lazy, _hot_. He makes a small noise into the kiss when Kuroo's tongue brushes at his lip, returning it in kind, oblivious to the small, wet sounds that emanated from the action. Tsukishima's hands rest on the other's shoulders at first, gripping the smooth texture of his jersey, before dropping to his chest, fingers splaying.

It's too easy to get caught up in Kuroo. When things were like this, Tsukishima didn't have _time_ to over-think things. He couldn't work out exactly where this might lead, what it might infer about his feelings, whether it was for the other or his attachments in general. It was frustrating later, because he _would,_ but right now, it was easy. Nearly effortless. Kuroo didn't stop him as long as he wanted it, so there was no excuse to stop.

Tsukishima liked it, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. He knew Kuroo knew, too.

"Tsukki—" The other murmurs, leaning into his touch and pulling him in at the waist— urging him closer.

...The one thing Tsukishima couldn't fully acknowledge just yet, however, was that Kuroo seemed to like it almost as much as he did.

"Mn," Tsukishima responds wordlessly, bracing himself on Kuroo's chest as he pushes a knee onto the bed, sliding up onto his lap, legs spread to fit against him snugly. Kuroo's kiss turns relentless, as if he'd been given permission— it's dizzying, that along with the warmth of the blocker's body beneath him, and Tsukishima feels like he can't breath— a hand at his waist presses him down against where they meet, the other running up the length of his body, pressing close to pinch his nipple through the thin jersey. Tsukishima jerks at the touch, a sweeter sound pushed into the kiss— before pulling away, a scowl across his lips. 

Predictably, Kuroo is still grinning, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the fluster of his cheeks.

"Don't." Tsukishima warns with a shove to Kuroo's shoulder, still scowling even as he can feel how hot his own skin is, breath fast. 

Kuroo ignores him, that smile still in place as he gently rolls his hips up against Tsukishima's— surprising him with the press of something obvious.

Already... Tsukishima feels a hard twist in his stomach, ashamed at how much the realization that Kuroo was this excited over so little turns him on. Kuroo is still watching him, so Tsukishima has to look away, but sways his hips a little into the movement in affirmation. With a quiet, almost amused sigh, the other is leaning in to kiss the side of his neck and beside his ear, grazing teeth over the shell of the latter, breathing warmly against the wet skin. 

Without Kuroo to meet his gaze head on, one of Tsukishima's hands comes up to bury in the other's mussed hair, pulling it just a little as he more wholeheartedly grinds down into Kuroo's lap, rutting his growing erection against the growing press of the other's through his pants. It feels good, and Kuroo pushes back up against him— but it doesn't alleviate the sensation blooming between his hips, nor his frustration. They grow twofold, especially when the other speaks so closely to damp skin:

"Relax."

 _I can't relax until you're out of my mind_ , Tsukishima thinks irately, instead dropping his face to Kuroo's shoulder, fingers scratching lightly across the other's jersey, leaving it bunched up, exposing a hipbone from beneath it, where the other's shorts dip below it. He continues the stronger rock of his hips down against the other's lap, shuddering audibly when their arousals line up, focusing on that point. Finally, Kuroo makes an uneven sound, buried in Tsukishima's hair, rough and affected.

Despite Kuroo seeming fairly shameless, he was often the more quiet party— to Tsukishima's dismay— when they'd done this, save for the first time (quick, hot, messy), so he feels a bizarre kind of satisfaction at the sound. He keeps rocking his hips down against the other's clothed erection, again pulling on the blocker's hair, swiftly finding his nerve once more with the minor victory.

"How is _this_ putting you in your place, Kuroo?" Tsukishima punctuates the comment with a push down into Kuroo's lap, rubbing firmly against where the other's cock presses against his pants. He's met with a breathy laugh, the other's face coming back into view, lips reddened from the kisses at Tsukishima's neck. It's frustrating how unbothered he seemed.

 "Ah right— sorry."

Tsukishima feels the need to wet his own lips, licking them absentmindedly— stopping when Kuroo is suddenly flipping their positions on the bed, sinking to his knees in front of it. The other's rough hands are already at his belt and catching at their buttons before he can sputter out a breathless reply, throwing a hand out to grasp one of Kuroo's wrists.

"What are you—" Kuroo's free hand dips into his pants anyway, outright cupping him against his boxers, rubbing the form of his cock gently through the material. Tsukishima's breath catches, knees twitching upward as his erection throbs from the friction. "Nn-"

The other's grin is directed shamelessly up at him when he can relinquish the squint he'd adopted at the touch, the eyes he's met with narrowed with blatant arousal. He speaks softly, face close to where his hand is working at Tsukishima. "Is this better, Tsukki?"

"Don't call me that." Is murmured at once, affronted, though he leans back on one hand to raise his hips barely when Kuroo's hand delves against the material to knead at his balls.

"Kei," Kuroo starts, rubbing his thumb over the dampened area of his boxers where the head of Tsukishima's dick presses. He breathes in sharply, the hand thrust behind him gripping the bedspread.

"I changed my mind. Just shut up."

Kuroo doesn't so much as glance up at Tsukishima.

"Alright."

Leaning in, Kuroo presses his lips directly to the stretched material of Tsukishima's boxer-briefs, mouthing him through it. This time, Tsukishima doesn't bother keeping in the soft moan that threatened to pass his lips, because he knows there's no point. He's in too deep. Kuroo's free hand rubs lazy circles beneath Tsukishima's hip as his other continues to knead through fabric, mouth working along the side of his dick, now stiff and straining against the material. When the other's lips move over it, dragging the damp fabric along with them—

"Ah.." The teasing is too much. Kuroo's touches were too brazen: knowing, unashamed in their search for what would make him react the most. His hips keep twitching upward against the movement of Kuroo's mouth against him, finally reaching his breaking point when the other glances up beneath heavily-lidded eyes— when he realizes that Kuroo has removed the hand from his hip to palm _himself_ through his shorts as he touches Tsukishima.

"Kuroo—" His voice is rough, low. He can barely get it out, but Tsukishima feels like if he doesn't change this situation, and fast, he'll lose it. Maybe that's what he wants, though, he can't be certain.

Maybe it's what Kuroo wants, too, because the other immediately yanks down the edge of Tsukishima's boxers, pulling his dick out and running his palm over it unabashedly. It only takes a couple of quick strokes before he's adding his mouth to the mix, running his lips over the underside of Tsukishima's cock to its head, taking it into his mouth. Kuroo's fingers rub over the now-damp skin as he works at the head, tongue pressed flat underneath it; eyes flicking up to take Tsukishima's expression into mind more than once, calculating of every detail, even now.

Kuroo's mouth is too hot on him, too tight when he sucks in— Tsukishima moans outright, bringing up a hand to his mouth, prompting a smile from the other in between his movements. Tsukishima wants to be mad, but his mind feels fuzzy, the heat coiling in his stomach and throbbing to the head of his cock too overwhelmingly distracting. Kuroo's reddened lips take him in again, and his hips buck without meaning to— the moan shifts an octave higher as his erection is forced into the other's mouth farther, but even beyond that, _Kuroo_  groans, the sound muffled against flesh. 

He'd like to look away. Things are mounting too fast, even if he'd wanted to get this over with, came here  _knowing_ he wouldn't be able to stop himself, but Tsukishima _can't_ turn from Kuroo taking him in, still touching himself almost frantically with palpable distraction. He just clings on: biting his lip, hidden behind his hand, small and strangled sounds leaking from his mouth as Kuroo's takes the head of his cock in again and again; spit-slick palm working at what he couldn't fit in his mouth. 

It's been but a few moments and Tsukishima can already feel himself losing hold. His breath comes out as rough pants stuttered with small verbalizations (" _ah, mm!"_ ) and his hips twitch out of time with the movement of Kuroo's mouth and palm down onto his dick. The situation gains certainty when he has to throw the hand at his mouth to the bed to join the other, a high sound ripping from his lips as he quickly teeters on the precipice of orgasm.

"—my face," Kuroo saids suddenly, between kisses to flustered, wet skin, hand still pumping roughly, tightly, "Come on my face—"

Tsukishima's breath rushes out as a keen, the other's flagrant, explicit urging sending a hard throb straight to his dick. Kuroo and his own eyes locked as he feels himself thrown over the edge, only torn away when he can't keep them fully open any longer.

" _Kuro_ — _Ah_!"

Kuroo pulls his mouth away at the last moment, a high, breathless sound escaping Tsukishima as a low, breathy groan passes from the other's open lips; Tsukishima's cock twitches in the other's hand as his cheek and mouth is struck with several bursts of Tsukishima's come. Kuroo doesn't stop sweeping his palm over him until it's over, breathing almost as heavily as Tsukishima— who is partially doubled-over, shoulders drawn up and head hanging. 

He keeps stroking him slowly even as Tsukishima straightens up, breathing raggedly and glancing down blearily at Kuroo's face, now stained with  _him_. The sight strikes still-sensitive nerves, and he has to shove down the tiny sound in his throat when Kuroo's tongue darts out to swipe over a bit that had landed on his lip, eyes narrowed and dark as if he'd been the one on the receiving end.

They meet eyes.

"Well?" Kuroo's voice is husky, a little jeering.

"It suits you." Tsukishima replies with a minute frown, before looking away.

"Good to know." When he can bring himself to look back (more than a couple seconds after Kuroo speaks), the other has wiped the mess off using his jersey, leaving him shirtless. It directs Tsukishima's gaze straight to where Kuroo is visibly still aroused, the bulge in his shorts more than obvious. He contemplates touching him, a flash of how the other might feel in his hand passing through his mind. 

Standing and straightening his clothes, a slight smirk passes Tsukishima's lips.

"... There's something that suits you better." He says quietly, realigning his glasses on the bridge of his nose, where they'd been askew a moment before.

Kuroo tosses the dirtied jersey on top of his bag in the corner, turning back to Tsukishima with a raised brow. The way he's leaning toward him with a lazy smile on his mouth all but indicates where he expects this to go next. "Is there?"

"Yes," Tsukishima says, slipping around Kuroo instead of closer to him, suddenly crossing the short distance from the bed to the hotel door.

He looks over his shoulder to regard Kuroo as he opens it in one swift motion— the other now sporting a look of both shock and confusion, and the smile on Tsukishima's face is almost serene.

"This suits you much better. No hard feelings, Kuroo."

 

* * *

 

 

Tsukishima isn't bitter anymore.

A smile sticks to his face even as he passes Nekoma's setter in the hall, the other staring at him with mild confusion. Behind them, Kuroo's loud, muffled complaints could be heard through the door, but Tsukishima doesn't pay either of them any mind.

Kuroo had been right. It was just a game— and he'd won the set point.


End file.
